Chrestomanci's Heir
by Alida of the Emerald Green Hair
Summary: What if Helen was Chrestomanci's heir? What if Jamie found her there? Heartbreak, laughs, faceless librarians...and Tom and Polly? What are THEY doing there? CHAPTER FIVE ALREADY UP! JOY!
1. Prolouge

**Disclaimer: **They don't belong to me (damn), but to the all powerful DWJ! There really should be more fics in this section. Come on people. She rules. Better than JKR and Pullman. So ha!   
  
  
  
In the countryside, a castle atop a hill sat peacefully. There were ruins around it, and many beautiful gardens as well, where children played in the summer and gardeners coaxed the most exotic plants into bloom.   
  
However, it was the lack of children in these gardens that made the castle's owner upset. As the all-powerful sorcerer he was, he ought to have found a nine-lived child to go in his stead by this time. As it was though, he frankly hadn't found a whiff of a heir anywhere. He supposed that he could wait for his own children to be born, to see if they qualified, but that was just too long (which was not to say that he wasn't handsome, it was just the fact that no woman could quite be comfortable with him). It wasn't exactly usual that a Chrestomanci felt this need for a heir, it was just that this particular one would just like to get the job done. He was still young, yes, barely thirty, but a Chrestomanci's life could be dangerous, and he wasn't taking any chances.   
  
So here he was, Cat Chant, The Chrestomanci, nearly asleep in his leather chair with a large book propped on his knees. The book was a listing he had obtained from a nice gentleman in Series Ten, which contained a list of all their children which had shown any talent for magic.   
  
And then suddenly, there it was. Right there at the bottom of the page was a name that was strange, yes, but the power rating next to it was extraordinary. Why, it was more than what he had when he first arrived a Chrestomanci Castle (and that was saying something, if he did say so himself)!   
  
_Harquas Uquara_, read the entry. _Born in the year 567, power: 8/9 _  
  
Harquas Uquara, he thought. Interesting. He had to look back at his reference guide to see what year 567 translated into in his world's years.   
  
...And he nearly fell off his chair. Which, mind you, would have been quite difficult in such a massive, soft armchair as he currently occupied. This child was not a child at all! He groaned. It was just his luck to get a foreign speaking _teenager_ to pass on his legacy to.   
  
He heaved himself out of the chair, with the thought of a good strong, cup-eating mug of coffee dancing in his head. And this was just the beginning, he thought miserably. He had to go fetch the damn kid as well. Finger-combing his blonde hair out of his eyes, he stumbled out of his office, eyes half closed. Which was not a good idea, for he promptly ran into a maid, who happened to be carrying a large pile of laundry.   
  
"So sorry," he apologized, gripping the girl's elbow mostly to steady himself, not her. But the maid was already on the floor, picking up the now-dirty-again clothing with red cheeks. Cat paused, then kneeled to help her. The girl turned even more scarlet and finished quickly, ratta-tap-tapping down the stairs with her burden before Cat could even utter another apology.   
  
Somehow, he made it to the kitchen without further mishaps, where he managed to chide the cook into making him a strong cup, with which he sat on the patio, watching the depressingly empty gardens. They would stay empty, too. Teenagers, as he recalled from his own experience, did not chase about the gardens like younger children did. He wondered vaguely if this Harquas-Uquara had any younger siblings that could be taken along. It might bring some life to the castle, at least. Yes, they might be barbarians, but it would be a blessing to have some good young voices making a racket at tea time and children in stockings and breeches making a fuss at dinner.   
  
He would have to ask his correspondent in Series Ten about this boy. Yes, boy. Cat never really thought much on the subject of gender, assuming his heir would be male. Which was his biggest mistake of the day.


	2. Worldstumbling

  
  
**Standard Disclaimer applies**. _Just so everyone knows, I haven't a clue as to the following facts: 1) What Jamie's surname is. 2) What Series was the one that Millie came from. You know, the Arabian one? That was where I was thinking Helen was from in the Chrestomanci worldsystem, and I just called it Series Seven. I don't have the book, so I can't check. Help would be appreciated, dear reviewers. So would reviews themselves. Thanks all! _  
  
Jamie was in quite the predicament.   
  
In his ceaseless movement about the Bounds, which he knew perfectly well he could fully blame himself for, he had completely forgotten the way to Helen's world. And what better way to annoy his friendly neighborhood enemy? He had _promised_, and Helen was not likely to forget.   
  
He was currently sprinting his way to the next Boundary through the acidic rain of a world where war was raging between men in camoflauge, the very worst type. It was a queer sort of fighting, though. Both sides, instead of rushing at each other to gain small bits of ground and drilling trenches in the earth, seemed to engage in combat by slinging things at the other side from dark vehicles which sped about. It was lucky for Jamie that he was wearing black, because that seemed to be a fairly neutral color in the barren landscape and blended in much better than the green suits of the armies.   
  
Yes! He had just made it, dodging a particularly nasty looking something which flared with a flash of light and heat and something that felt unpleasantly like a demon-ray a few feet away the moment Jamie disappeared through the gateway, leaving behind the mudstained, shocked faces of two soldiers hanging out the window of a gray automobile.   
  
Looking about where he had landed, he couldn't believe his luck. There they were---the very bone-marked place where he had first met Helen. He hadn't broken his promise after all--also meaning that Helen wouldn't go after him once she had died, probably attempting to damn his very existance for his stupidity and going after him on judgement day itself. That would probably be welcome though, because despite her general, impersonal hostility, he missed her quite a bit.   
  
It soon became apparent, however, that this was in fact I not Helen's world. Yes, it was quite barren and bland, but missing were the barbarian peoples that populated the world of Uqar. These people were more like Indians, he discovered, and much more apt to kindness. He had multiple offers for housing and food, and accepted one of them gratefully. It came from a woman called Pariminder, who stuffed him full up with rice and something that looked suspiciously like lizard meat, but he didn't really care that much. It also convinced him that these people were not cannibals, at which Helen probably would have scoffed. You could never be sure, she would say, but Pariminder and her family were nothing like the last cannibals he had met, and he was sure their kindness was genuine.   
  
After a bit of trouble over language, Jamie found the right general speech (he was quite right, it was very much like the Indian of Home) and was able to convey the object of his search.   
  
When he said the name Harquas Uquara, Pariminder's husband's head went up.   
  
You work for Chrestomanci? said the man, with a small concerned frown.   
  
Who was Chrestomanci? Wondered Jamie apprehensivly. Well, he certainly didn't work for him (or her).   
  
said the man. Fadi, Jamie believed, recalling Pariminder's hasty and lengthy introductions. Then why are you looking for Harquas Uqara?   
  
I could ask the same, Jamie said, growing suspicious. Helen--Harquas Uquara--is an old friend of mine, and I'd like to know what this Chrestohmanny chap is after her for myself.   
  
Crestomanci is looking for your friend because she has nine lives, of course! Why else would he? He needs an heir to be the next one, even if they've never had a girl before.   
  
He's an enchanter of some sort, then? said Jamie dubiously.   
  
Of course! exclaimed Fadi.   
  
But how do I find Helen? I mean-- he put in hastily Harquas Uquara.   
  
Fadi looked even more suprised, if possible.   
  
Just use the Place-In-Between. I'm sure you know it. We'll get you a nice place to sleep and you can just leave from there. She'll be at Chrestomanci castle by now, so you'll want Series Twelve.   
  
Before Jamie could protest, a large bustle of many excited children and Pariminder made off with him and managed to get him to lie down on a large couch in a room off to the side.   
  
called all the children and Pariminder and Fadi as one family entity, which was odd since he was merely going to sleep. But it was also clear that they didn't expect him back in the morning.   
  
In spite of all the strange goings-on of the past twelve hours, Jamie fell asleep very fast, but soon woke to find himself somewhere entirely different.   
  
There were rocks all about, slick with rain, and mud that was near ankle deep. It was no worse than some worlds he had been to, but there was a different-ness about it that was unsettling. _Rocks are rocks_, he reminded himself sternly. _There's nothing going on here but my brain creating some weird dream. This is not some kind of fubbed-up parallel universe trasnsportation thing. I hope.   
_  
Of course, that was exactly what it was, and he was considerably shocked when he meandered off around one stone and found himself somewhere else entirely. Or rather, somewhere in Series Twelve, like Fadi had said.   
  
This somewhere was a moor, just like the ones in the country at Home. But upon this moor was a castle, which sat in a lordly fashion over all a small village. He could also vaguely see ruins in the distance and sprawling gardens. It was all very much like Home, in fact, but perhaps a decade or two behind his original time, because autos were very, very few (in truth he only saw one, parked next to the back gate of the castle, inside of which there was a driver slumped over the wheel in an obviously very deep slumber).   
  
Jamie himself was standing on a hill next to the building. Just as he was about to walk down to see who the castle belonged to, there was a flurry of activity at one of the doors, and a skinny dark shape hurtled out the door and into the garden, shouting things that were not quite clear but obviously rude at a redheaded lady who closed the door in the offender's face.   
  
But Jamie's reaction to this was to run faster, because that shape was Helen, and he knew it this time. He must have gotten Fadi's instructions right after all, because here she was, and he was guessing that this was Chresto-whasit's castle.   
  
Helen was oblivious to the overjoyed male hurtling down the hill at her until he ran right into her at full tilt and hugged her fiercely. Or at least, he tried to hug her fiercely, but she kicked him hard in the shin and yelped What the bloody hell do you think you're doing! I don't even...Jamie?   
  
The only response he could think of was Nice to see you too, while he nursed his ankle, hopping up and down on one foot until Helen took her turn to knock him over with a huge embrace and begin to babble.   
  
Really, sneaking up on me like that!   
  
I wasn't--   
  
Of course you were, else I'd have noticed you earlier. Anyway, I was sure you'd broken your promise and was having quite the bad time of it when--   
  
But I wouldn't--   
  
--this Chrestomanci fellow showed up and called me his heir, which, of course, is ridiculous. I've been trying to tell these people that, but they won't listen to me. But they say the most extraordinary things. Mr. Chant--- that is, Chrestomanci, says I have nine lives!   
  
So I've heard, agreed Jamie. Could you perhaps let go of me now?   
  
Helen pulled her hair in front of her face and said carefully, Oh--yes. I'm sorry.   
  
But then the moment passed, and she seized his hand in a death grip and dragged him towards the castle.   
  
I suppose you'll have to meet Chrestomanci. He's nice enough, just don't tell him exactly what you do, else he'll want to study you.   
  
Study me?   
  
For magic and such. Or, I should say, what type of magic you have. He loves that type of stuff. There's a man here from Italy (where is Italy, anyhow?) who just does reinforcement magic, called Signore Tonino. Him and his wife Angelica sing spells, too. It's all very interesting, but...   
  
Inside the main hall, the redhaired young lady awaited them, looking first anxiously at Helen and speculativly at Jamie, who remembered suddenly that he was still holding Helen's hand. She seemed to notice as well, and quickly dropped it.   
  
When the woman spoke, there was no doubting that she was Italian. Her voice was on the scratchy side and her accent wasn't too heavy, but you could still tell.   
  
she swooped down upon Helen and Jamie like a falcon. Signorita Helen, who is this..._boy_? she said the last word a little oddly, and it took Jamie a minute to realize that he hadn't gotten a haircut in at least a year, or perhaps two, and his locks reached well past his ears and nearly to shoulders. He had forgotten about it because he had taken to wearing it in a ponytail in the back and hardly every took it out. It must have come unbound during his dream-journey to the castle, and the woman was most likely pondering whether she had an extremely masculine looking girl on her hands or a slightly feminine-seeming boy. Helen nodded, proving that it was the latter (hardly any comfort to Jamie, though).   
  
said the lady, recovering. I am Signora Angelica, and you must know Signorita-- she shot them a rather pointed look and continued. And you are?   
  
Um...James, uh, Keene, He couldn't remember his last name for the life of him, not that it really mattered. If he was James Keene here he could just as well be James Bond in the next world, for all he cared.   
  
Hm. Signore Keene? What brings you to Chrestomanci castle?   
  
He almost pointed at Helen, but recalled just in time that that was probably not proper, so instead said in his most educated voice, To visit, um, Miss Helen. Signora.   
  
was Signora Angelica's only response.   
  
It was a moment before Signora Angelica seemed to gather herself again and then briskly beckoned them to follow her up the stair.   
  
The stairs were an extravagant affair all by themselves, and Jamie found himself studying the trim and the polished wood. He hadn't been in a place so posh for at least a century. Signora Angelica looked at him as if she could tell, and Helen poked him sharply in the back.   
  
Ow! Quit it! he yelped as quietly as he could, though Helen still shushed him like a worried librarian. A worried librarian without a face.   
  
Don't you feel it? she said cryptically.   
  
Jamie began, but as he said it, he did feel something. A sort of pressure, like the air was pushing down on him. he ammended, I do.   
  
Mr. Chant laughed at me when I told him that. He's nice and all, but sometimes...   
  
They walked in silence for a few moments, footfalls softened by the thick carpets. When Signora Angelica stopped, Helen had to yank Jamie back by his coattails (he had a rather nice suit he had purchased a couple worlds back, and now was glad of it, though it was dirty) to keep him from running into her. He would have completely knocked her over if he had, because she was very small.   
  
The Signora rapped quickly on the door and pushed it open, revealing two young men sitting in armchairs and a desk full of papers. Both of them were blonde and handsome, though one's hair was yellower than the other's. That one was the more exravagantly dressed one.   
  
It was the one with the un-yellow hair that stood up first and spoke. His voice was like Signora Angelica's, with a very small Italian accent. Jamie thought this must be Signore Tonino, the reinforcement magician. That would mean the other one was Mr. Chant–Chrestomanci.   
  
Angelica– what–   
  
Signorita has a visitor, Tonino.   
  
A visit–   
  
Chrestomanci stood up too, in a flourish of large sleeves and papers, which were at this point flying everywhere.   
  
Excuse me, Tonino, he said, pushing past him to the doorway and standing in front of Jamie, Helen, and Signora Angelica. Jamie was shocked to find that Chrestomanci wasn't as tall as he appeared to be. It was just that he seemed to radiate power and height, even if he did seem a bit apologetic and uncertain.   
  
Now, could someone please explain? he seemed to suddenly notice Jamie, and exclaimed Oh! I see. And you are?   
  
James Keene.   
  
A friend of Helen's? Yes, thought so.   
  
Signore Tonino rubbed a hand through his hair, looking agitated.   
  
he said to Chrestomanci, Where will he _sleep_?   
  
This seemed to get Chrestomanci, and he visibly wilted. Oh. I never thought of that.   
  
It will be taken care of, said Signora Angelica. Chrestomanci seemed to liven up a bit at that, and announced cheerfully that he and Tonino had work to do and shut the door in their faces while Tonino attempted to blow Angelica a kiss around his friend. Signora Angelica sighed with a small smile back at her husband and started to walk again.   
  
Jamie and Helen had to scramble to catch up with her. She walked very fast. Jamie asked her where they were going, and her reply definitly caught him off guard.   
  
Dinner, of course, she glanced behind her to Jamie's mudstained finery. After you wash up a bit, of course.   
_  
Damn. _


	3. Formalities

  
  
He looks, she thought, like a someone from a Dickens novel. Dickens novels were items of large fascination and acclaim in the Chrestomanci household, and Helen had somehow been conned into reading them. Jamie, looking decidedly uncomfortable in his scarlet dinner finery (it had been borrowed from Chrestomanci because he was the closest in size to Jamie, though it did look a trifle baggy on him), looked like that poor boy who got adopted by the rich man.   
  
At a glance, you could mistake Jamie for a member of the gentry, but if you actually looked at him he didn't quite make the cut. Of course, Helen didn't mind. She herself felt quite out of place in her clothes. The dress was, naturally, black, though Signora Angelica had convinced her to allow some color in her attire; the petticoats and shift were both light yellow. The Signora had gone off on how they "brought out the gold" in her eyes.   
  
Before dinner, Helen had spent a great deal of time looking at herself in the mirror. Partially to see if Signora Angelica was right, and partially just to see if she looked good. Mentally, she scolded herself for vanity. She didn't usually care about that kind of thing.   
  
The truth was that some part of her was concerned how she looked. If she tried, she could bury it underneath her studies and small practicalities, but it was always there.   
  
"I'm growing up, you know," she told her reflection wearily. It was a nice enough reflection. A kind maid called Maria had fixed up her hair so that part of it was up in a wispy knot woven with yellow ribbons in the back of her head and the rest cascaded down about her shoulders. There was quite a bit of hair there, she noted. She used to wear it shorter, but she hadn't cut it for quite a while now.   
  
Now she was reliving the trouble that came with looking good. Every night she struggled with it, and every night Signora Angelica gave her small pointed looks out of the corner of her eye. The trouble was, you see, that there was a large metal contraption underneath the skirt that kept it bell-like. One had to manuever just so so the metal wasn't crushed or sticking you in the behind. For Helen, who had dressed in pants all her life, never, until she came to Chrestomanci Castle, had to deal with anything like it. On top of it all, it had to _look_ right too.   
  
She finally managed it, and noticed Jamie watching her. They had been guided to two seats right next to each other at the high table by a giggling maid. When they sat down, Jamie had been instantly preoccupied by the entrance of Crestomanci and Signore Tonino. Until the point we were at, of course. Let us continue.   
  
"What?" she mouthed irritably, scowling into the finger bowl offered by a server. The server in question saw her expression and left as quickly as he could after she had dipped her fingers.   
  
Jamie started to say something but was cut off by Chrestomanci starting grace and just reached for Helen's hand. It was rough and warm, thought Helen. His hand, that is. Hers, she was sure and embarrassed, was clammy. At the end of the grace, she pulled away quickly.   
  
"What were you saying?" she said as she tackled the hoop skirt again.   
  
"It's just that...you look really nice tonight."   
  
She looked up sharply from her rustling petticoats. His face was nearly the same color as his suit and he wasn't meeting her gaze. That was probably for the best, because Helen wouldn't have been able to handle it anyways.   
  
"Oh," she said dumbly. "Thank you."   
  
"Think nothing of it."   
  
_'Think nothing of it'?_ She wondered. It was hard not to.   
  
It was also hard, she discovered, to keep her eyes off him for the rest of the dinner. Then he would glance at her and she would drop her eyes quickly before he noticed her staring. As silly as it was, the game went on until the end of the evening, at which point Helen was more than happy and also a bit sad to go.   
  
Everyone bade each other a good night, and Jamie was lead off to a guest bedroom that had been hurriedly dusted for him. Helen walked back to her room alone.   
  
When she got there, she found, as she undressed (there had been a maid at first which had been given the job of doing so, but Helen had made sure she did not come back), that one of the wires in the skirt had bent inward so that it looked like she had a sort of dent in the upper half of the back of her legs. Yet another had poked through one of the petticoats. For a bit she was quite snared on the wire and ended up having to take some scissors to it. There was a satisfying _snap_! and she was free.   
  
Nightgowns in this world were nearly as complicated as the formal wear. The one Helen was struggling into had embroidered blue roses on it and a dizzying amount of ribbons that needed to be tied in bows. It was her favorite, not because of the decor, but because it was the simplist. Signora Angelica said that it "was a bad color for her" (meaning the roses, Helen assumed, because it was completely white otherwise, just like the rest of them).   
  
"_Good night_," she said in her native language, just because it felt good. No one but Jamie could speak it at all, and even he only spoke a little.   
  
She blew out the candle.   
  
**Thanks to all reviewers! **  
  
**silversilk:** bad computer! Computers are evil! Except for my Dad's new PowerMac G4 (yum).   
  
**Jacqueline Black:** Diana Wynne Jones is perhaps the best writer I know of. Her and Diane Duane. Her books are worth reading multiple times (Can't WAIT for Wizards at War to come out).   
**  
bob:** mmm...pairings! Yes, there's more fluff in this chapter cackles.   
**  
sonchika:** Thank you thank you thank you! 


	4. Explaining

  
  
"I'm not a hostess, Cat! What do you expect me to do with some strage...boy who has an interest in Signorita!? No no no! " (A/N: I could not help thinking of that German maid in "Men in Tights" while writing this. "And ze happy little birdie left a happy wivvdle doo-doo on your hand!")   
  
A very audible sigh drifted from behind a stack of books to Angelica's left, followed by the appearance of a perpetually disheveled head of straw-colored hair and the light, educated English voice of it's owner.   
  
"Angelica, Angelica! Could you not see that the boy is just as talented as our dear Helen? I also have the distinct feeling that he... well, I'm not sure yet, so don't mind me. Anyways, I do recall my former master once telling me (upon inquiry as to the facts of life, as I am rather embarrassed to say) that Mistress Millie took up residence within the Chrestomanci castle when Sir Christopher was about fourteen. Helen, being thirteen, should have the same rights, I assume.   
  
Angelica stared resetfully away from his pale, raised eyebrow and fixed her gaze on a nearby table scattered with papers. The top one was written in archaic cursive, and for a moment she struggled to decipher it.   
_  
Thump-thump-crash-crash_! Shocked, both Cat and Angelica jumped, but the latter much more forcefully, knocking more things on top of the former with more varied thumps, softer this time against flesh.   
  
"I've never known you to be so tempermental! Of course, you are..." Cat said mildly from underneath the wreckage, "I'm afraid I'm digging myself a bigger hole, so to speak," He ammended quickly, before that look on her face got out of hand. Angelica just grunted.   
  
"I'll take that for a yes, mm?   
  
"That's not what I was, uh, _leaping_ about, Cat.   
  
"Oh! So you weren't attempting to stifle me. Thank you for your consideration.   
  
"Cat..." the warning glint was back in her eyes.   
  
"Right. What seems to be the problem?   
  
"The boy's immortal?!   
  
"So it seems.   
  
She studied his carefully neutral face incredulously.   
  
"And this doesn't...concern you?   
  
He was gathering papers industriously now, not looking at her, but she could see the puzzled look in his eyes as if he was right in front of her.   
  
"Of course it does. But I think there's a way... Ow! And that was for what, exact--ow!   
  
Around behind his back he heard Angelica shift around the books so not to damage any, and for that he was happy, mostly because she wasn't poking him anymore (and he loved the books of course, he just had an endearing sense of self-preservation).   
  
"For being vague, _Eric_ Chant.  
  
Bruised arm _and_ bruised ego? Ouch! He was going to tell Tonino on her... Damn first name...   
  
There was a loud whumph of air as he sat down abruptly on a pile of cushions.   
  
"Take a seat, Lady Montana. This may be a rather long explaination.  
**  
------------**   
  
"I see. Jamie--- Cat? I'm still not sure if I understand...  
  
"It is rather hard to comprehend, no?" He asked, stroking his bare chin theatrically. She poked him.   
  
"Hey! Hey! I'm trying my hardest, dear wife-of-my-best-friend!   
  
There was steel in her eyes. "_Try harder_!   
  
He took a deep breath. "From the beginning, now. Jamie and Helen are from a rather strange world system which was once controlled by demons playing games with their worlds. Jamie and Helen, both from different worlds, become discards in this game, along with a demon-hunter called Joris, and move from world to world every time a demon playing with the world they're in makes a move. You follow?" He slid his blue eyes to her face and she nodded readily.   
  
"Anyhow, Jamie, Helen and Joris basically meet and come up with a plan to defeat the demons with some people called Adam, Vanessa and Konstam. They lead a rebellion against the demons, everyone is freed. But then Jamie figures that he must continue to be immortal and wander the worlds so they stay balanced. Got it?   
  
Angelica bit her lip, and nodded, looking unusually pensieve.   
  
Finally, voice even scratchier than usual, she mummured quietly, "How can we help them?   
  
Chrestomanci's eyes lit up then; he got to his feet in a hearty scramble of grasshopper legs and scattering of dust mites and papers.   
  
"Ah-ha! You see, that's where they come in!   
  
"And who exactly are "they"?  
  
A paper, magically levitated by a grinning Cat, landed in her hands. Two names, husband and wife, were written there in his unmistakable calligraphy:   
  
_"Thomas Lynn Polly Lynn._  
**  
--------**   
  
**Ack!** This came out sounding rather (my holyknickers do I say that a lot! 'tis not matter, 'tis my favorite word, all that great yadayada) um, Cat/Angelica. No no no! (there goes the German maid again) The pairings in this fic are as follows:   
  
**Tonino/Angelica **  
  
**Jamie/Helen   
  
Tom/Polly   
  
Cat/OC **(I know, I know. He probably won't even have a romance....wait! How 'bout Julia? Naw, they'd have screwy kids )   
**  
Konstam/Vanessa   
  
Joris/Elsa Kahn (the younger)   
  
Christopher/Millie (duh)   
bahbuhbuh....bet you didn't expect Tom and Polly to show up... ;-) This gets funner by the chapter! **


	5. Normality

**Disclaimer**: Duh, people. They do not belong to me. They belong to DWJ. What a coincidence. I mean, none of _my _characters are happily married. No-no. _They _haven't even gotten past the sexually-tense bickering stage yet.  
**  
Chapter V:**  
  
The costume was really old, thought Polly. And really ugly. Plus the dust in the boxes was invading her sinuses and making her sneeze. She figured it was a good idea to just throw the whole thing away, so she picked it up and started downstairs to do so.  
  
No! Mute-icide! Don't throw it away! My _mute_! A voice chased her down the stairs before it's owner even saw her, and she rolled her eyes. Tom always knew when something to do with music was being damaged, disrespected, or disposed of, and reacted according to his cellist's brain.  
  
With a dull _thump_, Polly set the box down on the sixth step, then also sat and waited for Tom to get there and retrieve his precious mute.  
  
It didn't take long. Within seconds, her husband was there, rummaging frantically through the box of junk. Polly just sat there and pointed out that that was what happened when he put his stuff in the attic. If he was going to use it, good lord, keep it in the apartment. His gaze behind his glasses went sheepish at that, but she knew he'd do it again. And again. No matter. It was hard not to love him, even if he was so hypersensitive about some things...  
  
He'd found it, then. Yes, he was cradling that mute like a baby. Polly didn't quite manage to control her snort.  
  
He turned his head to her and smiled wickedly.   
  
She waved her hand about offhandedly, mostly to hide her blush. Of course not, she said snobbily and turned her head away from him.   
  
A big hand ran through her hair, messing up her half-ponytail. While it teased the elastic out and her hair flew loose in a big pale cloud, she leaned into it's owner's faded anorak.  
  
Of course I am, she muttered into his bony shoulder. His appreciative chuckle made her vibrate all over, feeling as staticky as her hair.  
  
They got up and brushed themselves off as soon as the uncomfortableness of the stairwell hit them, and Tom chivalrously carried the rest of the contents of Polly's box down to the curb to be taken away with the trash. Polly herself made her way back up to the kitchen and started on some instant noodles. She wasn't the greatest cook, that was Tom, but she could sure manage most things that came in a box or can with average results.  
  
Tom moseyed his way up shortly after, sniffing at the air and, not commenting, getting out a ceramic bowl and spooning heaps of steamy noodles into said vessel. It was too much to ask, as it went unsaid, for him to get Polly's bowl too. She snorted again and collected her own food and sat cross-legged across from him on their living room couch. There was a big flowery rocking-chair that was his favorite, right in front of the cheap color television set, where he watched music channels and public TV programs with no abandon. Polly (secretly) preferred to tape his concerts on it. For some reason, watching her husband saw away at that cello overjoyed her at any time-- especially during long bouts of writer's block. _That_ she could write about whenever.  
  
There was no sound for a while but Tom's loud slurping noises as he practically inhaled his noodles. Polly's were going inevitably soggy and damp by then, as she tried not to laugh at the speed in which he ate-- it seemed a wonder that he could do so so fast, when he was otherwise so easy-going, so...well, there was no denying it, he was turtlish. That was the word (if one excluded his driving; though as he was no longer immortal or needed to be very heroic often, his hero-driving had subsided to a state where he didn't actually run the risk of _killing_ anybody, but was often very exciting for the passenger).  
  
We seem to have gotten a letter from a mysterious person, Tom finally said bluntly.  
  
Polly stopped stirring her noodles and looked up at him with an obvious question in her face.  
  
No, no, nothing to do with...her. This is from a Mr. Chant.  
  
Chant? As in, monks? Or magic spells? She asked uncertainly, not really wanting to broach the subject of enchantments but thinking of them nonetheless.  
  
Tom frowned, Well, yes, you could put it that way.  
  
Polly thought wryly that he seemed to have run her up against his silence completely unawares and tried very hard not to let the awkwardness of it stop her.   
  
What does he say? she ventured after a moment of letting the silence run it's course.  
  
That we are needed. He gives an address... Now, let me see... and plunked his bowl down on the edge of the radiator, levered himself carefully out of his chair, and did something that involved a lot of papers and the kitchen table. A few moments later he came back with a rather crinkled letter written on yellowed paper---was that parchment?  
  
said Tom, Here we go-- 101 Parsons, Heathersfield.  
  
Somewhere out on the moors, right? That's what, forty kilometers?  
  
Yes, something like it, he confirmed vaguely. No matter that that was an oxymoron-- Laurel had really changed their lives. Tom was never definite on anything anymore--except, of course, when it came to loving Polly-- since he was so afraid it would come back to bite him.  
  
Should we go?  
  
He swiveled around to her quickly, meeting her gaze squarely. I--yes, I think we should. He asks... he wants our help with something to do with his ward and her...young friend, James, he gulped audibly, then cleared his throat with a noise like an engine revving up. It's about magic.  
  
A small noise came out of Polly's mouth, unbidden but there. For a moment she went very white, then looked at Tom like he had just escaped the local mental facilities.  
  
Y-you're not..._serious_!?  
  
Something happened, but she wasn't sure what. There she was, pale as death and sitting stunned on the couch with a bowl of lukewarm noodles on her lap, then suddenly she was clinging to her husband, the noodles joining his on the radiator with very little transition and no stability. Even as she thought it, something went _crash_, but she didn't care, she was too busy making sure he was real, smelling the dryer-smell of his sweater and the shampoo-and-cologne smell of him.  
  
He was making frantic shushing sounds, smoothing her hair, rubbing her back, _shhh....shhh...It's okay, I'm fine, you're fine, it's gonna be okay_.  
  
She had barely calmed down when he kissed her very softly, on the forehead, the eyelids, the mouth. Of course, she kissed him back, and the moment of uncertainty was over, they were all happy young couple (A/N: Or should that be horny young couple'? Just Kidddddiiinnngggg...bwwhahaha). It wasn't long before they had sunk back onto the couch, and they did not speak of the letter again until the next day.  
  
**Author notes/Review replys:  
And....  
1. I know that Tom is older than Polly (young couple line there at the end), but I'm guessing by a rough of ten years. Therefore, Polly being 22ish, that would make Tom 32ish. In my opinion, thirty-two is still quite young. That's just me though.  
2. Some people interpret the end of F&H as meaning that TomPolly can only be togther in dreams and not in the real world, but I think they just wordplayed their way around Laurel's . So this is how I see it-- Tom and Polly, married, in the real world.  
3. In this, Tom is still with the quartet and doing fairly well (enough to occaisionally be on TV), and Polly is a writer.  
****Plebian Princess: **Thanks! What a compliment!  
**BOB: **Thanks, buddy. Glad you like!  
**Bricoleur:**Aww, man, violists are totally cool! Same here for being new... and writing fanfiction. Definitly not a thing I usually do, but since I've been on this site and giving critique for ages, I rather thought I should have a shot at it too. What I'm really, secretly doing when I say I have no time to update is writing _Crimson Kingship _and an untitled Tam-Lin ish thinger starring a girl named Genivive . Thanks so much for , like, being a _violist_ (imagine that!).  
**Swillgress:** Wow. That's all I can say. I may not agree that using other's characters is wrong (it's so much bloody fun, that's all there is to it), but man, you can write a fanfiction-crushing review while still making me feel flattered and happy inside .  
**Silversilk: **What an awesome, faithful reviewer. I'm really glad to have you around to goad me into writing!  
**Beatrice: **Ever thought of going into jacket-summary writing? DWJ could use you!  
**Siobhan: **Tahnk ya very much tips hat.


End file.
